


Mist

by VandaQ



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bastard Hannibal, But he doesn't need help, Hannibal is a Cannibal, I'm not sure what's this, M/M, Manipulation, S02, Will Knows, Will's mind is again a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 15:16:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2777930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VandaQ/pseuds/VandaQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For now, Will does not want to surrender to the mist...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mist

He sunk deeper in the inviting leather of the armchair, reveling into that state of pure, alluring bliss. His eyes were partly covered by the tired lids, seeming that his entire being craved the sleep. The empath still felt the lowly burning sensation of the alchohol coating his esophagus, gently warming up his chest, sliding down to his stomach to stuff it with a pulsating sensation of heat and comfort, of lost and darkness. He heard, in the background, the steps of his host, before the silhouette of the other to appear in his view a subtle fragrance arriving at him, waking up his numb senses, making a trace of a smile flourish on his lips. The tip of his tongue came to wet a bit his petals, as his crystals rose to meet the calm and so full of assurance gaze of Hannibal's amber eyes. His own blue pools seemed to disipate into waves of bursting light, golden inflection dancing upon their surface, the trembling fire from the fireplace casting shadows on his firm jaw.

"Have you ever thought your existence is meaningless, doctor?" his question came as a whisper, as a breath, words rushed and tone secretive, destined only to the psychologist. The cannibal took his own place back in his armchair, handing the glass on which bottom the honey like brandy was moving slowly in circles.

"I have not. I have the belief that every existence is precious in a way or another." Will took a sip from his drink, a renewed feeling of serenity capturing his mind. He hummed, slowly, throaty, letting his tongue kiss delightfully the liquid which then escaped to his throat, with lascivious moves which pushed further his mind into the trance, the reverie like state.

"Do you think my existence is meaningful, then?"

"I do not see any other answer than yes, Will. Why would one believe his existence is not fruitful?" At the reply, the agent almost smiled; almost; in his mind came memories with him lost on the unknown roads, lost in the heart of the forest, lost in the wet sheets of his bed; nightmares... What other meaning had his existence? He draw in a mouth of air, holding it in his lungs until he felt the air fighting to leave his lips. He emptied the glass, placing it on the silver tray that resided on the table between their armchairs and let his sight fall upon the game of the flames.

"I am lost, Hannibal..."

"And I am fully aware of this fact, Will. That is why I must keep continue to be your lighting torch." This time, the empath actually smiled; _smirked_ ; directing his eyes to the psychologist's face, he let the broken smile decorate his face. A few moments passed, engulfed in the thick silence, interrupted only by the murmur of the burning wood.

"I honestly don't think you are my torch, doctor..." Regret and accusation enveloped his words, metamorphosized them in poisoned arrows. "In fact, you can't be light..." The doctor, despite the serios allure of his expression, offered a small, almost imperceptible smile; one that only Will could read.

"Nevertheless, I know darkness better than you do."

"To guide me in the darkness?...", the empath retorted, teeth clenched as the anger seemed to seep through the bricks of his security walls. The image of the prison rose in his mind with its hallucinating whispers and sounds. A gentle voice murmured into his ear that he should follow Hannibal into the depths of the mist, to get to know the devil and its smile.

"Does darkness incites you?" The empath let his lids sweep the light off his vision under their black mantal and, with a shaky breath, he tried to deny the movement of his head; yes...

_Yes, yes, yes..._

"You flatter yourself, Hannibal," was the response, instead; he stood up, with unbalanced moves to make easier to bear the other's gaze; gaze filled with an amused flicker, with desire and patience.

"Do I?" The accented voice stuck to the walls of his mind, making them shatter, until a pounding ache captured Will's temples.

_No..._

"Yes, it seems like this." _Yes_. He had to resist the urge to turn and envelop the other's throat in a deadly grasp. "You destroyed a good part of my mind..." A whisper almost, fear and loneliness transcending every sounds, every syllable, the taste of the words acrid agaist his tongue. Will felt the presence of the cannibal's body in his back, close, closer, dominating, sure, sharp; the distant sound of the glass being placed on the tray; the seducing perfume of the psychologist, smelling of glory - reeking of victory and confidence. The victory of having him, Will Graham, chained; the confidence of the skilled predator who knows how to patiently track his victim, until the very end; until the _surrender_. But, _for now_ , Will still had power to run.

The agent almost groaned - or purred, the latter reaction frightening him - when the long fingers touched his shoulder; fingers which touched sensually the keys of the piano, fingers which took the breath out of the victims' throats, the fingers which made the object of his most abject and hated fantasies.

"I have no other choice but feel disappointed that you think so of me and my intentions." The doctor's lips feathery fluttered above his cheek skin, his own breath caught in the back of his throat, heart pounding savagely against his ribs.

Then Hannibal retreated; he brought his visitor coat; and Will sighed, heavy, feeling his mind lost and his body unable to move.

"Shall I call a cab for you?" The agent only nodded, swallowing his own words, encaging them within his chest; trying to escape from the desperation as well; he knew that as soon as he would see himself tucked in his bed, alone, the regret would reach his mind. It would consume his thoughts, his sleep, his sanity; that is what Hannibal wanted. He was aware of this. But, for now, the empath felt like he still needed to fight; no matter how much blood he had lost already in that fight; he needed to offer the predator a fair and exciting last battle.

For now, he clenched his fists, settled his jaw and strode to the doctor, accepting to be helped with the coat.

He turned his head an inch, to take a glimpse at the monster, to take into his appearance; eyes shadowed by lust and disappointment, lips slightly downward, picturing an unpleased grimmace, the whole image not resembling the ever so confident and elegant Hannibal; but presenting the predator which craved to conquer him...

Before to leave the doctor's house, the empath hushed, allowing for their crystals to meet in a short glance, blue separating to let the red see his soul:

"I am sorry as well..." _But, for now, I won't surrender to you or your mist, doctor Lecter._

In his house, the predator let a delighted smile adorn his sharp features, while his eyes seemed to still glisten with small, blue flickers of light. Hannibal inhaled and kept for a second the aromated air in his lungs, the scent of the agent lingering in the room for a time, indulging Hannibal to already taste the glorious feast which still had to come.

_Soon, William..._

**Author's Note:**

> What do I do to my life?...  
> Why do I keep writing such depressing stuff?...  
> Promise to bring something happier next time. Thank you for reading and comments are well-received~ <3


End file.
